So, It Was Mother's Day, Like Four Days Ago, Just In Case You Missed It

Mr. Chef and I have polar opposite views when it comes to hallmark moments. I believe in feeling sentimental, romantic, nostalgic, joyous or festive, whenever the hell the greeting card companies tell me to. He, on the other hand, has suffered a thousand too many long hours in over busy and understaffed kitchens at the hands of said greeting card companies, slaving away in the name of some fake, made up holiday, feeding the industrial stationary complex. So, he's a tad bitter, let's say.


But, Mr. Chef brought it this year. And he knocked it out of the park. A sleep in; coffee and iPad in bed; my favorite breakfast; a beautiful gift that came in a little blue box; a lovely card with a heartfelt message and a gift for someone who really needs it. Then a day at the park. A trip downtown. And a delicious dinner. Perfection. 


Mr. Chef doesn't believe in Mother's Day. He doesn't even particularly like it. But he did it all to make me happy. He does everything to make me happy. And that's why I am the luckiest. 


 


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Another reason why I am the luckiest? THIS LITTLE GIRL.


Mother's Day is an outward acknowledgment of all the grunt work, all the energy both physical, mental, and emotional that goes into raising children.  For this baby I stay up all night. For this baby I get covered in shit. Many many times. For this baby, I reach out with my bare hands to catch the vomit that is about to spew forth because I know her so well that I can just tell when she's going to barf. For this baby I constantly think about the millions of things I should be doing to ensure optimal development and growth, hatch plans plans of baby enrichment, and then inevitably feel guilty for not doing enough.


But for this baby I would do anything. Because of that smile. Because of the funny way she scrunches up her nose and makes sniffing sounds. Because those brown eyes are her father's. Because she is so determined. Because she giggles when we ride our bike. Because I'm lucky to be her mum.


Maybe Mr. Chef is right and we don't really need a special day to celebrate being a mother. Despite the barf and the poop and the sleepless nights and the worry and the things that are hard I don't even know about yet, it is a pretty amazing gig.